


O-Positive

by kiichu



Category: Dangan Ronpa, Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mild Blood, Needles, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-09-17 21:27:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9346586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiichu/pseuds/kiichu
Summary: There's only one person available to save Sakakura's life with a matching blood type. Still facing his demons, Ryota laments that it ends up being him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Juzo and Ryota have the same blood type, so naturally, this happened off-screen! Also, it's not said whether they have O- or O+, but O+ is way more common than O-, so.
> 
> This will be a twoshot, though the second chapter might not be as long as the first.

The droll white walls, the incessant out-of-sync beeps, the screams of agony from down the hall - it all shaped such a haunting environment that Ryota would swear there were ghosts overhead. He'd never liked hospitals, of course, but ordinary childhood fears tend to grow a bit stronger when reintroduced after trauma.

And it certainly didn't help that he'd met one Enoshima Junko at a hospital; every last cell in his body remembered that moment, and chose to punish him for simply being here. Memories flew through his brain like pages in a book, showing silhouettes of a laughing, twin-pigtailed high schooler with the devil's eyes; the images were scars on his mind like those trailing up his arms.

Goosebumps trailed down his pale arms, even underneath the long sleeves of his suit, and he felt as though someone was watching him. Panicked, his breath sped up and eventually caught in his throat, causing him to hack and cough, tears springing to the corners of his eyes. He felt someone over his shoulder, someone was here to take him away, make him pay for what he'd done to them, for his anime that he'd only wanted to use for good and not the  _evil_  he'd produced…

It was judging his every move. Biding its time, weighing his sins, ready to strike once he turned around to face it. Like a shadow, he felt it trailing behind him - felt  _her_  following him, the clicks of her boots too specific to mistake for anyone else.  _She_  was always there, whispering doubts and belittling him, rendering him powerless.

Back in the Killing Game, he'd argued with her in his mind, reasoning that she was dead now, that she couldn't hurt him anymore. She'd merely snarked that she never hurt him, that she never forced him to make anime, and that was  _his_  talent that made everyone fall to despair.

She was difficult to ignore, and knew exactly what bits of him to pick apart and dissect, and where to tear into mercilessly like a lioness going for the kill. She knew exactly how to bend him to her will, even from beyond the grave.

Part of Ryota knew it was just his own insecurities that merely borrowed Enoshima's voice and mannerisms. Another part of him denied this, really believing she was still here. If she was, that meant he was a victim again, and wasn't stewing in his own guilt.

" _Don't make me laugh, Mitarai-kuuun~"_  she had sang, " _You'll never defeat despair!"_

Except he tried. He really, really tried. By using his Hope video, he wanted to rid the world of the despair caused by her - and, he prayed, he would also get rid of her ghost in the process. The video compromised the viewers' free will, sure, but what was a few sacrifices to achieve peace once and for all? Ryota truly wanted to believe in his actions - until Imposter met up with him and broke through the illusion.

Before he'd made his way to the ship to leave with his classmates - the former Remnants of Despair - he'd been asked by Naegi Makoto to meet him at the hospital. Apparently, there was someone who survived the Killing Game he'd want to see.

Presently, though, he was seated in the lobby of the hospital, cringing over Enoshima's spirit behind him and trying to keep himself calm. His heart sped up too fast, pounding against his ribcage, and his world started to blur. Was he hyperventilating?

 _It's a panic attack._ He tried to tell himself, attempting to slow his breathing down.  _It's just a panic attack! There's no danger here. There's no danger!_

" _Yeah, Mitarai-kun! Why are you freaking out? It's not like you even did anything to help anyone, y'know? Maybe you should be here instead~"_

He let out a small gasp at her response, curling into himself and trying to will her away, to force her to  _leave_. His head drooped, clutched between his knees, and he wrapped his arms around himself tightly. Counting up to ten slowly, he once more grasped at a steady breathing speed, his pulse calming itself down slowly but surely.

Though these sort of attacks happened often, Ryota knew he'd never get used to them. It was a horribly helpless feeling, like he was weightless and floating in the terrifying images his mind conjured up. He blamed Enoshima, or wanted to hurl all the blame on her, but he knew it was his own weakness in the end. It was his own fault that he'd made his mistakes, and he had to live with the consequences, however much they may scare him.

" _Mitarai-kuun~ Mitarai-kun, why are you freaking out? Jeez. So lame! Mitarai-kun! MITARAI-KUN~!"_

"Mitarai-kun?"

Ryota's muscles tightened and his heart nearly leapt out of his throat; his mind, still half coursed in adrenaline, assumed it was Enoshima that called his name and he felt his stomach churn as though he'd be sick. His entire body felt cold and detached from his mind, like an empty vessel; he lifted his gaze to look behind him, eyes wide as saucers and sweat trickling down his forehead.

He told himself that Enoshima was dead, that she couldn't be here, that it was physically impossible for her to be here… These thoughts repeated like a mantra, over and over until he believed them even in the smallest, slightest way.

When he finally did register who he was looking at, however, the same thought patterns skittered through his brain -  _she couldn't be here, there was no way_  - but this time, it was mere disbelief and not downright horror. In fact, it went beyond sheer confusion to surprise and a strange concoction of relief and shame.

Standing before him was a spirit from the past, a girl he'd known to be dead - but not the one he feared.

"K-Kirigiri-san?"

* * *

She'd actually returned from the dead.

He didn't think it'd ever be possible, but he was glad that it was her all the same. If there was one person he'd wish back to life, it would have been her, for sure. But she didn't need his wishes - she'd managed to save herself all on her own, by her sheer cunning ability to think ahead and make use of resources she found during the game.

In all honesty, Ryota was even more impressed with her, and he'd already put her on a pedestal before she'd miraculously come back to life.

The lavender-haired woman had returned with Naegi Makoto by her side, the boy staying silent as Ryota and Kirigiri reunited and offering little more than a gentle, encouraging smile. Ryota didn't think he deserved such kindness, but he didn't press the matter.

The two sat across from him in the hospital lobby, and suddenly, Naegi's previous request made sense. Sure, Ryota would have liked to travel with his classmates, but he would've assumed Kirigiri dead the entire time without knowing.

"I… I still can't believe it," he murmured, his voice still trembling.

So many thoughts trailed through his mind as he stared at her, and he found himself anxious to apologize to her. After all, he'd followed her around like a puppy the entire Killing Game, mostly to protect himself and the video on his phone. He'd used her like a shield, and only started to really feel trapped once she was dead.

Kirigiri quirked a brow and exchanged a glance with her classmate. "Naegi-kun let me know what I… missed out on, after the time limit. I'm glad you've returned to your senses, Mitarai-kun."

Ryota flinched, his eyes meeting the floor in burning shame. She spoke so casually, as though he'd merely lost touch with himself for a moment. But no, he'd used his video for evil purposes - purposes that rivalled Enoshima's original use of his talent - and it took too long for him to snap out of it. And it wasn't even his own doing; he had to rely on another person again, had to have someone else offer him a path to redeem himself.

"Yes, I… I'm so sorry, Kirigiri-san," he replied.

" _Pffft, you're not sorry. Otherwise, you wouldn't have done it~"_

He mentally told Enoshima to shut up, wishing she'd leave his mind for just a second so he could talk to someone he'd known to be dead. His hands gripped around his knees as he bowed his head further, tears pooling below his eyelids.

"I didn't know what I was thinking… I…"

He felt a gloved hand on his shoulder, noting that the grip was light enough to shake off if he wished. But he didn't want her to let go; like a sponge, he wanted to greedily soak in the comfort she brought him - despite being so utterly undeserving.

"There will be time for this later, Mitarai-kun," she continued, eyes piercing and face as tight and reserved as always.

"She's right," Naegi chimed in, and Ryota realized he'd almost forgotten the other boy was in the room at all. "We'll have plenty of time later." Now that they weren't in danger, now that the world was on the path for the better - hopefully, at least - they could meet their individual traumas head on. Once the last of the Despairs were taken care of, there wouldn't be anything to fear, and they could heal in peace.

At least, Ryota prayed the world would someday end up like that.

"Yes, we will. Right now, though…" Kirigiri's purple gaze casted over to the doors of the hospital, the same ones that led to the emergency surgery rooms.

Blinking in confusion, Ryota stared at the doors with her, wondering just what she was looking for.

"I-is something the matter, Kirigiri-sa-"

The answer came seconds later, in the form of one Munakata Kyosuke.

Ryota had always known the man to be well-groomed, prestige and solemn-faced, keeping an air of dignity and almost silently  _demanding_  the respect of those around him. It went without saying that Munakata Kyosuke was a ruthless man, to be feared if one happened to be on the other end of the battlefield as him; with his katana blade, as well as his best friend packing a powerful punch, there were no misunderstandings when it came to his strength.

The Future Foundation treated him as important as he was, of course, and many feared him because of this - Ryota included. He always tried to avoid eye contact, afraid that the white-haired man would somehow find out his sins and rip them from the darkest corners of his mind.

Not once had he seen Munakata look anything less than a cold, calculating,  _strong_  leader - until now.

The man's missing eye was the least of his problems; his hair was tousled and wildly unkempt, bags under his eyelids showcasing a lack of sleep Ryota was all-too-familiar with. His clothes - which were the same that he wore during the Killing Game a few days ago - were wrinkled and shredded in some areas, the new coat he'd found already torn.

What was strange was the dried blood crusted into his suit around the arm and torso areas - it was clearly not his blood, as the fabric wasn't ripped in those areas to imply injury, and Ryota didn't recall him having any wounds when they escaped, anyway.

So where did the blood come from…?

Ryota's heart sank as he realized he'd probably soon find out.

"Mitarai Ryota," Munakata rasped, his voice hoarse and quieter than normal. He was out of breath, as though he'd been running down the hall before meeting with them here, and seemed both emotionally and physically drained.

For a moment, Ryota could only stare, his pulse hammering in his ears. What could Munakata possibly want with him? Though he hadn't been there to see Ryota first use his video, he surely saw the effects of those soldiers he'd brainwashed. Munakata knew his guilt, so why was he even bothering to speak with him?

Swallowing thickly, Ryota did the only thing he could think to do at a time like this, with his sins weighing so heavily on his shoulders. His mouth felt dry, tongue turning to ash as he tried to push any sort of sound past his cracked lips; he knew an apology wouldn't do much good, not after what he'd done, but he wanted to say it all the same.

" _That 'apology' only satisfies your own guilt, Mitarai-kun."_

 _Even still._ he hissed silently to Enoshima."I- I'm…s-sorr..."

Before he could continue, he was met with the sight of Munakata Kyosuke's bowed head, his stance formal and his tone frantic as he begged, "Mitarai Ryota, there is something that requires your immediate assistance. Please. I…  _I need your help_."

Ryota found himself unable to breathe for a few precious seconds, staring at Munakata's trembling form and realizing all at once just how  _desperate_  the man was. He had to be, after all, if he was appealing to  _Ryota_  for help.

Because clearly, the animator didn't know how to help anyone - only to  _destroy_.

* * *

There was another phantom about, another soul that had been snatched from the jaws of death and allowed to continue breathing. Another person that hadn't been allowed to die when they should have during the Killing Game, another subtracted from the overall body count.

Beyond the glass, Juzo Sakakura lied helplessly in his hospital room, wearing a look as close to death as Ryota had ever seen on a living person. The broken body on the small bed was riddled with bandages, covering up the worst of the wounds he'd sustained. His left arm was missing, hacked away during the Killing Game - by choice, Naegi had reported - and his eyes looked sunken in. Though he was sleeping, the man looked almost as exhausted as Munakata; obviously, he wasn't having a pleasant sleep, fueled by anesthesia to take away the pain and force him into unconsciousness - or, rather, a light coma.

Tubes crisscrossed over him every which way, IVs poking through his arms and attached to large machines. An oxygen mask was strapped over his mouth and nose, forcing his chest to rise and fall weakly as it pumped him full of air. The beeps and whirs of the machines keeping him alive were the only sounds in the room; Ryota couldn't even hear the sound of his own heartbeat amongst the stifling, droning noises.

Anxious thoughts crept into his mind again, threatening to spill over like black ink on a white piece of paper, but he swallowed it down. This wasn't about him. Sakakura had somehow survived his wounds and was dying, and  _Ryota_  was the one almost having a panic attack.

" _Kyaaa, how selfish!"_

 _I know._ His fists clenched at his sides in frustration, angry at Enoshima -  _at himself_  - for becoming that self-centered.

Taking a few deep breaths, he turned to his companions, who led him here without so much as a word. Munakata needed his help, and then brought him to this room - but  _why_? Why show him this?

"I- I don't…" he stammered, unable to form a proper reaction to what he was witnessing. Juzo Sakakura was a powerful man, strong both physically and mentally - to see him like this, on the verge of death and frail, was unnerving. It was seeing a natural fighter out of his element, and it was borderline  _terrifying_. "I don't know what y-you want me to…"

Munakata stepped forward, his eye flicking over towards his bedridden friend before beginning his explanation.

"When the Remnants of Despair went into the Future Foundation building to rescue us, Tsumiki Mikan found and saved the life of Kirigiri Kyoko. You know she survived by counterattacking the poison with an antidote. However, there was another she found still alive." Munakata's eye flashed over to Sakakura, his gaze clouded and unreadable. "Sakakura was barely hanging on. I thought he was dead when I found him, but… that wasn't the case. And I was careless.

Mikan saved him; she bandaged what she could, gave him CPR, and got him to a hospital in time. Only so much can be done now, however, and he's merely being kept alive. There is no doubt that he will die if he continues like this for another day or so."

Ryota's stomach churned at the reality of the situation, beads of sweat trickling down the side of his face. This truly was life-or-death, and whatever Ryota was needed for, it must be very crucial.

"What could I possibly help with?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper. Munakata's stare didn't break and the man stepped further toward him, a pleading tone to his voice once he responded.

"I've checked the files of those left alive in Future Foundation - and those available on such short notice. You're the only one with blood type O+. Well, you and… Sakakura." Munakata's lips pressed into a firm line, and suddenly, Ryota understood what it was he was being asked to do.

_Blood._

Ryota could never forget the  _blood_ , the disgusting shade of red-brown that was simply not something that could be captured within drawings. He remembered the bodies, all strewn about in every nook and cranny of the decaying world; for years, he couldn't go anywhere without the stench burning his nostrils and the sights making him recoil with guilt and agony. The truth hit him repeatedly, stealing his sleep and making him paranoid and ultimately seek shelter with the very organization that would throw him out if they knew the truth:  _this was his fault._

Did Sakakura really want a  _traitor's_  blood in his body?

Ryota felt himself trembling, eyes darting anywhere but at Munakata as his mind went to other places. He could feel the staring eyes of Kirigiri and Naegi behind him, as well as Munakata's expectant gaze, and it was suffocating. It was as though he were locked within four very tight walls, his air slowly depleting and growing staler and staler until he felt his lungs shudder and his fingers could only clutch at his throat as he tried to breathe in but he just  _could not-_

"Please calm down, Mitarai-kun." A hand on his shoulder made him jump; he hadn't even realized that his heart had sped up again, and it seemed he'd almost leapt off the edge of his panic into an attack. Wide eyes shot to Kirigiri, who'd moved next to him and was offering the most comfort she could.

He nodded slowly, his mouth feeling like cotton as he responded, "O-okay. Sorry. But- are you sure it'll work?"

Munakata nodded without hesitation. "If you were Type O-, we'd be having an entirely different conversation - that is a universal donor, and we'd require you to give more for other victims outside. That isn't the case, but you and Sakakura are a match, so it's the only way he can have a chance."

"I know you'd be Munakata-san's hero if you did this, Mitarai-san," Naegi added with a small, saddened smile.

"A  _hero_ , huh…" Ryota muttered, his voice almost inaudible as he bit his lip. In the Killing Game, the roles of 'heroes' and 'villains' were very clear cut; those who caused conflict were villains, and those who prevented it were heroes. Despite his fears, Ryota first stepped up to the hero role, standing in front of Sakakura as he threatened Asahina with violence. Since that moment, Ryota labelled Sakakura a 'villain' - someone who lived to stir up trouble and get in the way of the heroes.

Except, in the end, Sakakura had been a hero - he'd almost died for the remaining players, shutting off the power while bleeding out from multiple wounds. Did those who gave Sakakura his wounds count as villains in that scenario? And what about Ryota, who turned around and used Sakakura's sacrifice to brainwash the others?

Their roles swapped, and Ryota dug himself into a hole he didn't even realize he had the shovel for. He'd made such critical mistakes in the blind pursuit of redemption, the desire to  _do_  good outweighing his actual  _good deeds_  in the end.

 _Intending_  to be a hero didn't make one a hero. As the saying goes, actions spoke louder than words - and the need for an action presented itself, just for Ryota.

"When do you need me to do it…?" he asked, his tone still shaky, but resolve in his heart. There was nothing to hesitate about.

"Immediately," Munakata replied, adding in another quiet, "Please."

Bobbing his head in acceptance once more, Ryota agreed, and followed Munakata into Sakakura's room. Kirigiri and Naegi decided to stay outside and keep watch, just in case they were needed elsewhere while the procedure went on. Ryota felt a bit nervous at that, but Kirigiri once more squeezed his shoulder and he felt safer, somehow.

There was already a place set up for him, alien-looking machines surrounding the two beds with the promise of at least one of them being hooked up to Ryota. Once he noticed the empty bag hanging from a pole, he was almost certain his blood would drain into that; he squirmed at the sight of the needles attached, but as he sat down, some of the anxious noise always buzzing in his mind like static seemed to dissipate.

It was only  _some_  of the anxiety that went away, but it was a noticeable and welcome change. Enoshima even seemed to have shut up for once.

A nurse entered the room, triggering his flashbacks to Mikan crawling towards him on all fours with despairing lust in her eyes; he shoved the thought away and focused on greeting the nurse politely, hesitantly flashing a tiny grin her way.

"Are you comfortable, Mitarai-san?"

Ryota nodded shakily.

"Have you ever had blood drawn before?"

He shook his head.

"Alright, well it's a fairly simple procedure - we need to get enough that will sustain Sakakura-san, so it may be a little more than the usual amount if, say, you were to go to a blood drive." She smiled faintly, eyes flicking down to the clipboard in her hands. "Blood Type O+ is usually common, but considering how things are now... We're glad you were willing to do the transfusion."

 _What choice did I have?_ How could he say no, especially after Munakata looked at him with pleading eyes, a clear picture to them both that the fate of that man's only friend left was in Ryota's hands? How could he refuse after the stunt he pulled at the end of the Killing Game?

" _Some hope you turned out to be~"_

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts of Enoshima, he gave the nurse another polite nod. "It's no problem at all," he murmured, studying the white walls that surrounded them.

With Sakakura deathly still, it was strange to think that there were actually three people in this room instead of the two interacting. Ryota could almost pretend he wasn't there, if not for the puffs of the oxygen mask keeping him alive.

He slipped off his jacket and shirt per the nurse's instructions, leaving him in only his undershirt. If the nurse noticed the crisscrosses of conspicuous white lines and the circular remnants of burns, she didn't comment on them. He could always prepare his usual speech, citing Monokumas giving him the marks on his arms, but he was glad she kept her mouth shut.

Still, the embarrassment made him avoid her gaze as she walked him through the procedure, telling all she would be doing and how long it should take. Once she handed him a water bottle, he clutched at it nervously and watched her wrap a band around his upper arm. His hand curled into a fist when she asked, and he watched her prepare the needle and some sort of tube.

"Alright, I'm going to administer the needle now," the nurse announced, dabbing Ryota's arm; he turned his head away once she drew closer a bit - a natural reaction given what happened, but he still cursed himself for being so cowardly.

" _Did Mikan-chan fuck you up that badly, Mitarai-kuuun?"_

He swallowed hard, flinching as the needle was inserted into his wrist. He watched, almost sickeningly fascinated, as the red was almost plucked from his veins, churning in a tube and filling up a bag labelled with a large 'O'. The charm of the blood extraction soon grew stale, though, once Ryota realized the world was spinning.

He sipped at the water bottle, his vision growing dizzy. The nurse assured him dizziness was normal, and that he might even feel faint - but this was an emergency procedure, so he gave his permission to continue the transfusion should he pass out.

And Ryota's consciousness really was on the edge, his world growing dimmer as though the lights were flickering above them. But the room remained the same, holding the same three people - the coward, the kind nurse, and the man on the verge of death - and Ryota found himself watching the clicks of the wall clock as the seconds dragged by.

"Will this really help him?" he asked finally, breaking the silence. He dared to take another glance at the man, almost expecting Sakakura to jump up and punch him in agitation.

But the boxer remained still, his expression lifeless and cold, as though he really  _was_  a corpse. Ryota didn't like the look on a man once so… eager.

The nurse pursed her lips, a sort of sad expression settling onto her features. "I'm afraid it's not a guarantee. But it will give him a better fighting chance. And from what his friend told me, Sakakura-san is a fighter."

Ryota couldn't help but smile at that, his words a bit slurred as his consciousness finally faded out.

"Yeah. He… sure is a fighter."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize if this seems not as quality as my other writings. I grew bored with this, but already had like 3k typed so I just polished it as best I could to publish it and get it over with. 
> 
> Basically, "I'm tired of looking at this so here you go". Enjoy!

In the animes Ryota loved to watch, there were always protagonists to look up to - brave, valiant heroes that shone like a beacon of light, guiding both the other characters and the plot forwards. The heroes may have fallen at times, but they always got back to their feet, they always persevered and went beyond what should have been their limits, and they never let their fears overtake them.

Growing up, all Ryota had was anime, and he found himself looking up and aspiring to be just like the characters in his shows. When he grew older and began to craft his own tales, he always exaggerated the heroes' strengths, and made sure there was no question of their role in the story. His characters were flawed, of course, but always overcame their challenges to become a legend.

As he drew them, Ryota would fantasize about being in that position and making those choices, saving his friends and ultimately going down in history as being a brave and powerful individual.

It was a far cry from reality, but oh, he  _dreamed_.

Once Enoshima seized his video and used it as she did, Ryota grew to detest his works. He hated the illusion he presented with his animations - that he, of all people, thought that good could prevail. How naive, he had thought bitterly - righteousness won in fiction, but clearly the same couldn't be said of reality.

So he lost faith rapidly, becoming repulsed by the very act of picking up a pencil. His passion for life had died away, leaving him a depressed shell. Taking a blade to his arms helped numb the pain a bit, but even they scarred and left him with reminders of his own weakness.

Ryota hated himself - but he knew he had no right to complain or try to change anything. He'd already messed up the world enough.

His mind wandered away from self-pity, focusing on creating a setting for his current dream. He wasn't anywhere in particular; his surroundings were a deep blue color, but nothing formed the illusion of a room, merely a vast empty space with him in the dead center.

Blinking, his eyes scanned for anything familiar anyway, trying desperately to make sense of the place his mind had conjured up. Of course, he came up with nothing logical about where he was, and merely trusted that his instinctive terror was valid.

Of course,  _she_  spawned not even a minute later, proving he was right to be afraid.

Perhaps fear was too lax a word for what Enoshima did to him; what he was feeling was easily terror, raw and overpowering to his constitution. And yet, how strange, he reflected - this was clearly a dream, but that one part of him still felt terrified at the very image of Enoshima, her thin shadow looming over him with the heels of her thigh-high boots. He knew better than to think she was actually here - but his mind didn't listen to logic, and his body reacted accordingly, sending fresh dream-adrenaline through his veins.

"Mitarai-kuuun, I came to play. Don't you want to see me again?" she asked, her tone almost  _bored_.

He stepped back, shaking his head furiously and feeling the hot prick of tears behind his eyes. "N-no, no, I don't  _ever_  want to see you again…! You're dead!" Panic bubbled in him like a tea kettle boiling, threatening to spill over and splash his anxiety over the edge.

The girl placed her hands on her hips, a disdained look on her face. "How rude. I come all this way after being dead to see you, and you treat me like this? It's like you aren't even grateful I helped you reach your full potential! Uwaah, how despairing~!" Her expression melted into an almost lustful one, drool leaving the corners of her mouth as she wrapped her arms around herself.

Ryota closed his eyes, willing her to fade away - but of course, when he looked once more, she was still there. He tried to ignore her, to focus on something else, but it was difficult when there was  _nothing_  else around in his dream state.

But, wait - a dream state meant he could manipulate his environment, didn't it?

Fists clenching, he raised his voice a little. "I- I want you to  _go away_. I don't want you to be here, I don't want to hear you in my mind anymore. Go  _away_ , Enoshima."

She merely laughed. "Oh my god, are you trying to  _exorcise_  me or something?"

In a way, that was correct - besides her ghostly state, Ryota had trouble believing Enoshima Junko was ever human to begin with. The woman was simply too evil, too  _sadistic_  to be anything but a demon. And exorcising demons sent them away for good, so he'd have to try harder.

"Go away," he repeated, his tone louder but still shaking. "Go. Away!"

"Mitarai-kuun, I wanna play~"

"GO AWAY!" he yelled, voice cracking and eyes narrowed into frustrated slits. Anger pulsed through him, the frustration of having this ghost chase him around and whisper horrible things in his ear was becoming all-too-much. Maybe it was because she'd taken to messing with his dreams now, but Ryota had had  _enough_.

Her face fell from the smile, a serious and equally furious look crossing her features. "Huuuuh? So, Mitarai-kun thinks he's a good guy now, huh? Just for giving some guy blood? It's like you completely forgot what you did with the video! And that was  _all you_ , baby. Remember, you said it yourself: I've been dead for  _ages_!"

Ryota trembled where he stood, a surge of confidence fueling him to stand his ground. He hated this woman; everything  _she_  stood for went against what  _he_  wanted to be, and he was getting sick of it. In his dreams, he could take more risks, and spit at the face that tormented him so much - after all, it was only a dream, right?

His fists shook at his sides. "Damn it, why do you have to show up  _now_?" he hissed. "I- I'm doing a good thing! I'm helping someone! Leave me alone!"

With a wide, toothy grin, Enoshima loomed closer, her eyes dark and shooting a hole through him. Icy, manicured fingernails trailed along his cheeks as she leaned in closer, clamping her hands on both sides of his head and twisting her facial features to a stretched, wicked expression of sadistic glee. It looked otherworldly; if Enoshima wasn't a demon before, she surely turned into one after death - or, at the very least, in this nightmare.

Her hot breath tickled his ear as she whispered, "There's  _nothing_  you can do to escape what you've done."

* * *

Eyes snapping open, it took a moment for Ryota to regain his bearings. His lungs shuddered and his heart pounded with every heavy breath he pushed through his lips, his gaze wide and unfocused. As he inspected his surroundings, his memory became clearer and clearer until he was able to fully recall what had made him fall asleep.

He'd agreed to give blood to Sakakura, as fate decided to link them together through blood type. Ryota was the only one that could do the transfusion on such short notice, and the desperate look on Munakata's face told him he absolutely could not refuse, even if he had wanted to.

But while getting his blood drawn, it seemed he'd ended up passing out after all. It figured, and Ryota wasn't the least bit surprised; he always had a weakness to blood and needles, not to mention hospitals, so this place was just begging to cut his consciousness off, as if in some twisted way of self-defense.

Lying in the same bed he'd fainted in, Ryota noted the quietness of the space around him, as well as the water bottle sitting on his bed stand. His throat was dry from thirst, and he helped himself to a long gulp of the water.

Once he placed the bottle down, he found the room wasn't empty. Purple caught the corner of his eye, and he finally noticed Kirigiri and Naegi sitting nearby. They'd pulled up a couple of chairs in the room at the foot of his bed, reflecting two sets of concerned gazes back at him.

"Mitarai-kun, are you alright?" Kirigiri asked.

He made himself nod, even though he wasn't so sure he was completely alright. Still, what right did he have to tell them his troubles? He had nightmares, sure, but weren't those the least of what he deserved, after what he'd done?

Taking in another shaky breath, the animator forced himself to peer over at the occupant of the other bed, but was surprised to find a curtain partitioning Sakakura's side of the room off.

He must have looked as confused as he felt, for Naegi answered his thoughts a moment later. "While you were asleep, they gave Sakakura-san the transfusion, and he was in surgery for a bit. The nurses said the blood really helped! He's stable and resting, for now."

Ryota's heart felt lighter at the words, a fluttering sort of feeling dancing around in his chest. It wasn't the normal anxious butterflies of, well, being nervous about  _everything_ , but a strange sense of relief. Finally, some evidence that he'd done something  _right_  for a change.

"I'm glad," he breathed, staring over at the curtain thoughtfully. "Naegi-san, can I ask you something?"

Naegi's eyebrows raised. "Of course, Mitarai-san."

He fiddled with the sheet lightly draped over him, index finger and thumb pinching the fabric nervously. How could he possibly explain what plagued him to Naegi Makoto, a literal shining beacon of hope? The young man probably never felt a drop of despair in his life, and would only scold him for allowing Enoshima to influence him so heavily in the past.

Would he blame Ryota for what happened to the world? For what happened to his classmates?

"What is it?" Naegi pressed, startling Ryota out of his thoughts.

"W-well…" Ryota began, his throat feeling dry despite the water he'd just sipped. "H-how did you… manage to defeat Enoshima? I keep doubting myself - I keep being  _afraid_. How… how could you believe in hope so strongly? Does it  _do anything_ , in the end, when despairful events keep happening?" He chewed on his lip, feeling his pulse quicken.

The other boy was silent for a bit, exchanging a glance with Kirigiri. He placed a hand to his chin in thought, really constructing the answer in his mind before giving it to Ryota. Of course, the animator knew why he would be careful with his words, but the drawn-out pause was absolute hell. Every second felt like an hour, every minute an eternity as he waited, a pathetic dog anticipating the bone that would hopefully keep him from starving. He waited and felt himself drawn to the possibility of Naegi's words being positive towards him, his inner self immediately ridiculing the idea.

Still, he waited. He  _hoped_.

" _Ha! You know what hope does, Mitarai-kun. You know alllll about it, don't you?"_

He shook his head clear, not wanting to hear what Enoshima would say on the matter.

"Mitarai-san, despair will always be present in our world," Naegi finally said, snapping Ryota back to reality. "Hoping doesn't mean despair will go away completely. It won't. That's just not how it works. But what Enoshima Junko wanted - the world to be plunged completely into despair - simply isn't possible, either. Hope and despair coexist, just as good and bad events happen. It's a matter of balancing them to keep yourself human."

The older boy glanced over at the curtain, expression growing unreadable. With a soft sigh, Naegi added, "You remember when I made you guys tie me up? I saw the despair video on the monitor, and same as anyone else, I tried to kill myself. But… Sakakura-san stopped me. He said that someone who defeated Enoshima Junko couldn't just die like that.  _He_ saved  _me_ from despair."

With a smile, Naegi stood up and walked over to Ryota. He sat down on the edge of the bed, eyes glimmering. "I'm not some kind of hope machine. I've lost a lot of friends, and I've felt the cutting despair of it. But I haven't given up, and believe that hope will keep me in the right state of mind to move forward with life."

Kirigiri joined Naegi next, sitting on the other side of the bed. "Choosing to hope doesn't mean you don't know the pain of despair, Mitarai-kun. You can feel both, and find that peace of mind once you accept it." She curled her lips to a smile to mirror Naegi's, an equally positive look flickering in her eyes.

Ryota didn't know how to respond, but his body seemed to have that covered - without warning, tears pooled under his eyes and slipped down his cheeks as he bowed his head. A lump formed in his throat and he finally couldn't hold it back anymore; all the shame burned in him like a fire, ripping through him and letting loose through sobs racking his frame.

"I'm  _sorry_ ," he whispered, "I've - I've done so much wrong. I'm  _sorry_." He knew it wasn't Enoshima whispering to him, but a representation of his own insecurities and despair. The real Enoshima's opinions of him couldn't matter anymore - she was dead. She couldn't hear him, couldn't see him, couldn't influence him at all anymore.

Kirigiri placed her hand on his shoulder again, and he found himself leaning into the touch a bit.

"You're taking a step in the right direction for helping Sakakura-san," she murmured. Her voice was comforting; he couldn't help but feel better from hearing it, even if he wasn't sure he had the right to.

"That's right!" Naegi exclaimed. "Munakata-san is so, so grateful. Sakakura-san has a way bigger chance of surviving thanks to you!"

Ryota tried not to snort bitterly at the words; Naegi made it sound so nice, so  _benevolent_  and  _pure_. A good-hearted animator donating his blood to a man that truly needed it, how kind!

As if. Sakakura was merely damned, forced to continue living in the wretched world Ryota had helped destroy.

* * *

The doctors decided to keep Ryota in the room overnight, just in case they needed another transfusion in the morning. It really didn't matter whether he stayed or not, though, because the constant noises of the hospital kept him awake.

Besides the nurses bustling around outside the room and the pages for the doctors, Sakakura's machines were rattling about at every breath he took. Every-so-often, he would cough, and the sound struck Ryota down to the pit of his stomach - it was a wet, suffering hacking noise that almost seemed strangling.

Whatever higher being decided to keep Sakakura on earth, it was clear he was meant to go through so many more hardships before finding peace (at least, Ryota could only assume by the way he couldn't even  _breathe_  properly yet).

Tossing and turning in the bed, the younger man tried to drown out the sounds by covering his head with his pillow, but he knew sleep was a far-off dream. He couldn't even sleep normally anymore, and had to resort to any melatonin (or alcohol) he could find, or wait until his body gave into the exhaustion and he passed out wherever he was.

The latter outcome was never helpful in a world that constantly had you looking over your shoulder.

But even in the 'comforting' environment of a hospital - what a  _joke_ , honestly - and despite the world looking better and better after the Final Killing Game, Ryota's mind could not stop buzzing. The anxiety gnawed at him, tearing him down and breaking through every weakness in his mind until his thoughts weren't even coherent anymore. Changing from asleep to awake as quickly as a light switch, his consciousness flickered on and off mercilessly until reality was no longer obvious.

Enoshima stood at his bed, her teeth sharp and widespread into a smile, bright blue eyes just  _watching_ him. She didn't even need to say anything anymore; her simply  _being there_  brought the the room's temperature down a significant degree, not to mention chilling Ryota to the bone.

He stared, eyes wide and unblinking like an owl's, and willed her to just  _disappear_ already. But she remained there, and he remained watching, his whole body trembling and his heart pounding against his ribs like a drum.

"Please," he whispered finally, his voice hoarse and broken, "please, just leave me alone."

She didn't respond, but another sound caught his attention; the beeping from the bed space next to him grew quicker, the puffs of oxygen more frequent. Ryota's gaze shot over to Sakakura, watching as his eyelids twitched and the fingers on his remaining hand curled inwards slightly, a low rumbling noise echoing from behind his mask. Instantly, the animator was up and at the other man's side, kneeling down at the side of his bed and watching carefully.

Just for a second, he cast a quick glance to where Enoshima had been standing; to his surprise, she had vanished completely, not even a wisp of black smoke left in her wake. But another low moan from the bedridden man snapped his attention fully away, and the dead girl completely faded from his mind for the time being.

Ryota noticed Sakakura's every movement, however slight, and held his breath once he noticed the man's eyelids slowly sliding open, tiny slits of red finally showing themselves to the world after so long. Sakakura's eyes looked empty, but not lifeless - it was clear he wasn't coherent yet, but he  _was_  well enough to open them, at least.

After watching Sakakura blink a few times to clear his vision, Ryota contemplated speaking to him. He didn't want to spook the man, so he decided on quiet, choice words.

"Excuse me," he asked, his voice but a whisper, "how are you feeling?"

Sakakura still flinched at the sound, not expecting any noise so close, and the red gaze shot over to stare at him. There still wasn't a readable expression on his face, but the way he narrowed his eyes told Ryota he was getting more and more aware as the seconds dragged by.

"Do you know your name?" the boy pressed, unsure of what to even ask him.

Sakakura managed to roll his eyes, his cracked lips parting behind the oxygen mask. There was a brief moment of quiet as he readied himself to try speaking after such a long time, and when he finally did reply, it seemed to take a lot of effort just for a few words.

"Sakakura Juzo. And I feel like shit," he croaked, his voice hoarse and lower than usual.

"A-ah," Ryota mumbled, fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves. "Yes, I'm sure you're in pain. You're in the hospital, though, as you can probably guess... I'll, um, call the nurse for you-"

He moved to press the Call button above Sakakura's bed, but a hand shot out so  _quickly_  and clasped his wrist so  _tightly_  that he let out a frightened yelp.

"Wh-what are you doing?" Ryota quivered.

"I know you. If… if you survived that hell-" Sakakura's voice cut off as he coughed, his whole frame shaking and tears pricking along the corners of his eyes.

Ryota waited patiently for him to continue, too intimidated by the hand still gripping him to do anything else.

" _ **Where is Munakata**_?"

Curiously, Ryota raised his eyebrows. So, Sakakura was on the brink of death - needing multiple machines to breathe and a sheer medical miracle to still  _be alive_  - and his first worries were about Munakata? Was he that close with his friend, or did Munakata give him a reason to be so concerned?

Either way, it was kind of admirable, admittedly. Ryota couldn't say he held such a close bond with someone - not even Imposter, who he owed so much to.

"Munakata-san is fine. He's going to be returning here tomorrow. I'm sure he'll be glad to see you awake…!"

A look of pure relief washed over Sakakura's face, the expression so foreign Ryota had to wonder if this was the same man that had assaulted him during the Killing Game. The boxer looked so serene, so  _calm_  that it was almost frightening.

"Good. I don't think he'll be happy to see me, but… it's good, that he got out," Sakakura mumbled, mostly to himself, but nodded to confirm his words. "I knew he would, though."

Ryota forced a nervous smile. "Y-yes, you shut down the power in the facility… do you remember?"

Sakakura chuckled - it was quiet, defeated, and so very  _bitter_. His eyes slipped closed for a few moments, and just as Ryota was beginning to fear Sakakura had lapsed back into unconsciousness, he replied in the same jaded tone.

"How the hell could I forget? Levers, blood…  _Munakata…_  I… why am I not dead, after that?" Red eyes opened and tracked around the room almost curiously, each object surely taking a moment to register in the man's mind. It had been so long since he'd seen any glimpse of the conscious world - Ryota couldn't blame him for taking a bit to readjust to reality.

The boy sighed, fiddling with the cuffs of his suit jacket anxiously. "Honestly, I - I don't know how you managed to survive that. You must be… really strong." He gave a weak laugh in an attempt at humor, but it only sounded strangled in his throat. "I should know, I still have bruises from where you kneed me in the stomach, after all!"

Silence fell between them as Sakakura simply  _stared_ , his expression unreadable. His mouth pressed into a firm line and his eyebrows raised, as though he'd just realized who he was looking at. "Ah," he finally mumbled. "I had... nothin' to worry about, then. If  _ **you**_  of all people survived that hell, th-then… then of course Munakata would be fine." A wry smirk crossed his lips and he released Ryota's wrist with a scoff, turning his head to focus on something else in the room.

Ryota sat quietly, not daring to move, and simply watched Sakakura regain his bearings. The wounded man's gaze trailed from the window showing the blackened sky outside, to the machines and wires connected to him, and back at Ryota again.

"Why  _are_  you of all people here, anyway?" the boxer rasped, his head lulling a bit to the side.

Swallowing hard, Ryota wasn't exactly sure how to respond. "W-well," he stammered out, licking his lips, "since we apparently have the same blood type, Munakata-san requested that I help give you a transfusion. You were… in pretty bad shape."

There was another long stretch of silence, and the boy couldn't help but flinch at the possibility of being scolded - or even struck - for his stupidity. Of course Sakakura wouldn't want Ryota's blood in his veins, that was just common sense, but he suddenly felt the hesitation grow stronger the more he predicted the boxer's angry reaction.

"I'm sorry, we couldn't just… ask you," he whispered. "There was no other choice." He forced his gaze up to meet Sakakura's, fear reflecting in his amber eyes.

Sakakura blinked coolly, not at all as angry as Ryota had predicted. The man almost seemed unimpressed, as though it hadn't mattered to him if he lived or died. Suddenly, Ryota recalled Naegi reporting the boxer's condition, and how empty and void of emotion he'd been as he walked away to his presumed death.

"A-anyway," the animator continued, trying to change the topic. "Speaking of survival, Kirigiri-san also overcame impossible odds…"

"Good for her," Sakakura retorted, rolling his eyes. "I don't exactly expect less from the friend of Naegi Makoto, Super High School Level Luck Bullshit."

He didn't expect Sakakura to idolize Kirigiri like Ryota did, but didn't really understand the hostility he had with her - or any of the Hope's Peak alumni, especially considering the boxer himself was among them.

Oh well. Ryota didn't think he could get into the mind of Sakakura anyway, nor did he think he deserved to know what pained the man so much.

More silence fell between them in the tiny room, and Ryota could feel the creeping feeling of panic quickening his heart. Taking a few deep breaths to calm himself, the boy decided to just continue babbling about whatever he could think of, just to keep his mind off the fact that he was sitting alone in a room with a man he outright  _feared_.

"It sounds pathetic, but… I'm happy I was able to help." Fingers curling on his knees as he bowed his head, Ryota could feel his shoulders trembling. He couldn't stop the words from coming; like vomit, it all just spewed out of him without his control. "I… I've felt responsible for the end of the world for so long, you know. I've always felt like it was me that made things get this bad."

Sakakura was silently watching him, so he continued, "A-after all, Enoshima used… my video, to brainwash my classmates. I didn't know she would do it, but that doesn't excuse it. I… fucked up!" Tears pricked at his eyes once again -  _crybaby_ , he scolded himself - as he confessed all his sins to Juzo Sakakura, someone who had every right to kill him the minute he could.

Well, Ryota would  _welcome_ death at this point.

Sakakura's red eyes were wide, his mouth hanging open in surprise and his eyebrows raised high. "It was  _you_ ," he rumbled, disbelief heard in every syllable. "It was your video that did it."

Ryota nodded, screwing his own eyes shut. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry - Enoshima, she doesn't leave me alone. She's still in my thoughts, my  _dreams_  - she still whispers words to me. I'm trying to make up for what I've done, but despair just won't leave me alone!"

Sakakura looked ready to strangle him, the veins in his forehead bulging and his lips curled into a snarl. Ryota held his breath, expecting to be punched at this point. Then again, if Sakakura wasn't physically able to punch him, maybe he'd scold or threaten him until he could.

But, to his surprise, the bedridden man's anger faded rather quickly. In what seemed like less time than the blink of an eye, Sakakura's expression melted into something more placid and controlled. A great sigh left his lips and he leaned his head back against the pillows, gaze listlessly tracking around the room once more.

"Screw it. I can't even be that mad," he mumbled. "It's not like you're the only one to blame."

"What do you mean?" Ryota was completely positive it was his fault, given the facts. Was Sakakura trying to make him  _feel better_  or something? "She used  _my_  video."

"I heard you the first time," Sakakura snapped, but his expression wasn't as angry as he sounded. "And  _I'm_  saying you're not the only one with sins to live with."

Was the other man speaking from experience? Ryota opened his mouth to reply, to ask what he could possibly be referring to, but Sakakura's glare made him close it again rather quickly.

"I didn't know I'd wake up," Sakakura continued, fiddling with the hem of the hospital blanket. "I didn't know I'd be one hand down, still here and still able to protect Munakata. I didn't know all of  _this_  would happen when Enoshima confronted and blackmailed me - and believe me, I would've gladly given into her if that was the case."

 _Blackmail._ The word hit Ryota's stomach like a stone; swallowing hard, he tried to imagine what Enoshima could possibly have on someone like Sakakura. The man seemed downright invincible; what sort of secrets was he hiding?

"But as it is, now that I'm somehow still breathing, I don't think dying would've helped much. Might've been just me taking the easy way out." Sakakura's remaining fingers curled into a fist and he stared down at it, his expression somber. He grew quiet, the ticking of the clock on the wall the only sound in the room.

Ryota wanted to respond that Sakakura was probably stronger than anyone he'd ever known, but he didn't want to disturb the man's deep thinking. So instead, he leaned back in his chair, reflecting on his own choices and where to go now.

Sakakura seemed to think that living was punishment for his sins, but what if it was simply another chance to change themselves? What if they were both given their lives, despite the Killing Game and Enoshima's despairful chaos, to atone for their mistakes and do right this time around?

And of course, Ryota knew he wouldn't ever be able to  _escape_  what he'd done, nor did he want to erase the seriousness of it all. But despite that, there had to be a better way to contribute to society now, to helping to rebuild the world. Hurting himself further didn't help anyone. If he just ran away or gave up, it would be spitting in the faces of those that lost their lives because of Enoshima.

He could start a change, he reasoned, by giving blood to anyone else that needed it in the hospital - and then go from there, one day at a time.

 _I'll try to be stronger now._ He thought, closing his eyes and breathing out deeply.  _Just watch me prove you wrong, Enoshima. I'll do better._

And to his surprise, she never responded.


End file.
